综合manbetapp（一）下册　lessonx16

Lesson Sixteen : The Letter “A” (II)

1.was now five, and still I showed no real sign of intelligence. I showed no apparent interest in things except for my toes---more especially those on my left foot. I used to lie on my back all the time in the kitchen or, on bright warm days, out in the garden, surrounded by a family that loved me and hoped for me and that made me part of it. I was lonely, imprisoned in a world of my own, unable to communicate with others, cut off, separated from them as though a glass wall stood between my existence and theirs. I longed to run about and play with the rest, but I was unable to break loose from my imprisonment.

2.Then suddenly, it happened! In a moment everything was changed, my future life took a definite shape, my mother’s faith in me rewarded, and her secret fear changed into open triumph.

3.It happened so quickly, so simply after all the years of waiting and uncertainty, that I can see and feel the whole scene as if it had happened last week. It was the afternoon of a cold, grey December day. It was snowing. The streets outside were all covered with snow.

4.Inside, all the family were gathered round the big kitchen fire that lit up the little room with a warm glow and made giant shadows dance on the walls and ceiling.

5.In a corner Mona, my sister, and Paddy, my brother, were sitting together. They were writing down little sums onto an old slate, using a piece of yellow chalk. I was close to them, propped up by a few pillows against the wall, watching.

6.It was the chalk that attracted me so much. It was a long, slender stick of vivid yellow. I had never seen anything like it before, and I was fascinated by it as much as if it had been a stick of gold.

7.Suddenly, I wanted desperately to do what my sister was doing. Then---without thinking or knowing exactly what I was doing, I reached out and took the stick of chalk out of my sister’s hand---with my left foot.

8.I do not know why I used my left foot to do this. It is a puzzle to many people as well as to myself, for, although I had shown a curious interest in my toes at an early age, I had never attempted before this to use either of my feet in any way. They could have been as useless to me as were my hands. That day, however, my left foot reached out and very impolitely took the chalk out of my sister’s hand.

9.I held it tightly between my toes, and, acting on an impulse, made a wild sort of scribble with it on the slate. Next moment I stopped, a bit dazed, surprised, looking down at the stick of yellow chalk stuck between my toes, not knowing what to do with it next, hardly knowing how it got there. Then I looked up and became aware that everyone had stopped talking, and was staring at me silently. Nobody stirred.

10.My mother came in. she stopped midway between the table and the fire, feeling the tension flowing through the room. She followed their stare and saw me in the corner. Her eyes looked from my face down to my foot, with the chalk gripped between my toes.

11.Then she crossed over to me and knelt down beside me, as she had done so many times before.

12.“I’ll show you what to do with it, Chris,” she said, very slowly and in a queer, choked way.

13.Taking another piece of chalk from Mona, she hesitated, then very deliberately drew, on the floor in front of me, the single letter “A.”

14.“Copy that,” she said, looking steadily at me. “Copy it, Christy.”

15.I couldn’t.

16.I looked around at the faces that were turned towards me, tense, excited faces that were at that moment frozen, immobile, eager, waiting for a miracle.

17.The stillness was profound. I could hear the sound of the water tap dripping, the loud ticking of the clock, and the soft hiss and crackle of the logs on the open fire.

18.I tried again. I put out my foot and made a wild stab with the chalk which produced a very crooked line and nothing more. Mother held the slate steady for me.

19.“Try again, Chris,” she whispered in my ear, “Again.”

20.I did. I stiffened my body and put my left foot out again, for the third time. I drew one side of the letter. I drew half the other side. Then the stick of chalk broke and I was left with a stump I wanted to throw it away and give up. Then I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder. I tried once more. Out went my foot. I shook, I sweated and tried my best. My hands were so tightly clenched that my fingernails bit into the flesh. I set my teeth so hard that I nearly pierced my lower lip. But---I drew it ---the letter “A.” There it was on the slate before me. Shaky, with awkward sides and a very uneven center line. But it was the letter “A.” I looked up. I saw my mother’s face for a moment, tears on her cheeks. Then my father stooped and put me onto his shoulder.

21.I had done it! It had started---the thing that was to give my mind its chance of expressing itself. True, I couldn’t speak with my lips. But know I would speak through something more lasting than spoken words---written words.

That one letter, scrawled on the slate with a broken bit of yellow chalk gripped between my toes, was my road to a new world, my key to mental freedom.